


darling don't you know, my only heart is beating for you

by rryuugazaki



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 14:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12772725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rryuugazaki/pseuds/rryuugazaki
Summary: “… You didn’t think I lived in some sort of penthouse suite, did you?” He’s doing that thing - that shitty thing he does where he’s only kind-of-joking, that tone that implies ‘I might be wrong, but if I’m not, and I know I’m not, I’m going to keep bringing this up until the day I die’.or, nick stays at rafael's apartment for the first time.





	darling don't you know, my only heart is beating for you

**Author's Note:**

> i literally don't ever write but i needed to finish this thing that's been sitting in my documents for uhhhh way too long now. it's called gay idiots.doc and i hope you enjoy it
> 
> title taken from never get to hold you by carly rae jepsen because i'm gay and bad at titles. also because carly rae jepsen has literally produced nothing but hits and yet somehow stays unappreciated. thank you for coming to my ted talk.

The thing is, Nick supposes, it’s not that he has high expectations. That’s the wrong way to think about it. Sure - under normal circumstances, assuming someone lives in a huge, fancy penthouse apartment, that you’ll be staying in one of their three guest rooms, and that they’ll have sparkling water in the fridge, these are normally high expectations.

But it’s Barba. The man who hasn’t let him come over since they started dating more than a few weeks back, always coming up with an excuse or showing up at _his_ apartment before Nick can even send a, _‘how about dinner at your place this time?’_ text.

So, the fancy penthouse apartment with three guest rooms, with sparkling water in the fridge? It’s not a high expectation. That’s just reality. That’s just how these things go. _That’s_ the reason why he hasn’t been invited over. 

That evening, when his boyfriend stops on the street outside a pretty modest-looking apartment complex, Nick assumes they’re stopping off to drop something through someone’s mailbox. Even as Rafael shuffles through a set of keys, even as he uses a key fob to buzz himself into main lobby of the complex, even as they go up five flights of stairs in relative silence, Nick waits until they're outside the apartment door before coming to any conclusions. Peak detective work.

Rafael narrows his eyes in his direction, trying to decipher Nick's expression, something that lies between confusion and embarrassment.

“Something wrong, detective?” He drawls, after a moment. Nick doesn’t even have the time to think of a witty response before Rafael reaches out to take Nick’s hand, the one that isn’t clutching onto his overnight bag. He says, quietly, “You alright?”

Nick nods, flashes him a smile. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

Rafael returns the nod, unlocks the door to his apartment. Before he completely opens it, he looks over his shoulder at Nick.

  
“… You didn’t think I lived in some sort of penthouse suite, did you?” He’s doing that thing - that shitty thing he does where he’s only kind-of-joking, that tone that implies _‘I might be wrong, but if I’m not, and I know I’m not, I’m going to keep bringing this up until the day I die’_.

Nick controls his expression as well as he can, but instead of outrightly denying it all he can manage is a wide-eyed shrug, something just off of a genuine attempt at innocence. In response, he gets an exhale of a laugh, and decides it’s worth it.

Rafael opens the door with the confidence of someone who did a deep and exhaustive clean of their apartment less than twenty-four hours previously, but who is sure they left it in a mess anyway. He holds the door for Nick, watches him enter the space like one might watch a new animal come home.

Not that this is Nick’s new home. It doesn’t- they’re not - it’s not the time to be thinking about that kind of thing.

(As far as Rafael’s concerned, it won’t ever be the time to think about that sort of thing. He’s going to avoid the ugly, warm feeling he gets deep in his chest, his stomach, when he thinks of Nick inhabiting the same space as him. Padding around a shared area, gentle touches as they pass each other in the mornings, settling down together at the end of the night. Domestic. Warm. Idyllic.

Yes. He’s going to avoid thinking about that for as long as he can.)

Nick sets his bag down next to the couch, looks around, and takes his time to let everything soak in.

If an apartment could be considered an extension of the person living there, and if every part of Rafael Barba seems to be thought out and definitive, Nick can’t say he’s surprised by what he sees. Grey, neutral tones, hardwood floors, a small but modern kitchen with clear counters - save for a large and expensive looking coffee machine. A desk near the window, two large bookcases along the far wall, a small, sleek coffee table between two charcoal couches. 

But there’s a softness, hints of the Rafael that Nick has come to know over time. A handmade, fluffy throw over the corner of one couch, worn with age at the edges. Haphazard case files on the desk, straddling the line between _‘messy’_ and _‘organised-enough-that-I-can-tell-what’s-going-on-so-please-don’t-touch-them’_. It’s subtle, but it helps bridge the gap between the ADA for whom nothing is ever enough, and the man who regularly pulls Nick closer in the night, making sure that he’s tucked just under Nick’s chin.

“If you’re quite done staring, detective,” Rafael starts, all business, but his voice softens almost immediately after, “Have you given any thought to dinner? We said we were gonna get takeout.”

Right. Nick shrugs off his coat, gets ready to throw it over the side of the couch when he sees Rafael hang his own on a coatrack - and maybe he was kind of right about what he thinks he should expect, because no one _actually_ owns a coatrack, right? He hangs his coat on top of Rafael’s, happy to move closer to him in whatever little way. Rafael looks up at him with a gentle expression, his mouth pulled into something of a somewhat nervous smile.

So Nick kisses the corner of his mouth, tender, loops his arms around Rafael’s waist. He rests his head on Rafael’s shoulder, turns it to the side so he can talk quietly without being muffled.

“Something with rice?”

“Yeah,” Rafael breathes, “Yeah. _Yeah_ \- there’s a menu around here somewhere.” He pulls away slowly, almost like he doesn’t want to upset the balance of things, and walks to the kitchen to find whatever old pamphlet he has at the bottom of one of the drawers.

They order from a Thai place, maybe two blocks over. Both Nick and Rafael wonder, separately, if it would just be quicker to walk and fetch the order themselves, but the extra moments they can spend in the warmth of the apartment, with each other, makes them disregard that train of thought as soon as it happens in the first place.

While they wait for takeout, Rafael excuses himself to go get changed out of his suit . Nick makes himself comfortable on the couch, running his hands over the seat, feeling the texture under his fingertips. He gazes openly at his surroundings with no worry of interruption. He wants to know every corner of this apartment, wants to familiarise himself with it, wants to feel at home. He loses himself in the thought of sharing a space like this with Rafael, just for a moment, before exhaling quickly and running a hand over his face.

When Rafael returns - in sweatpants, cuffed at the bottom, an old t-shirt - he looks warm, soft. Comfortable and domestic in a way that Nick doesn’t think he’s seen him before. Sure, he’s lent Rafael clothes when he’s stayed over, but now, inside his own apartment, he looks infinitely more at ease. The look on Nick's face is fond and affectionate. 

Rafael cocks his head to the side, narrows his eyes. It’s a little shift in expression, but it’s one that challenges whatever Nick’s about to say.

“And here I was thinking you’d wear some fancy silk pyjama set, or something.” Nick says instead of whatever tender thought his mouth was going to let loose. Rafael stares at him evenly, gaze half-lidded and unimpressed. He breaks, though, smiles despite himself as Nick pulls him down on top of him.

It’s not graceful. Rafael lets himself be pulled down, yes, but he’s tense as it happens and it’s not as smooth a movement as Nick imagined, but then they’re kissing and he doesn’t have the time to think about it any more.

They exchange gentle, soft kisses, quiet conversations muffled into shoulders as they wait for the food to arrive. Nick leaves a mark on the side of Rafael’s jaw, grins when he’s chastised. Rafael doesn’t think anything in the world is perfect - everything has its flaws, its downsides, but the way Nick’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he lets out a breathy chuckle, something low and quiet and just between them just before he kisses him again and again, comes pretty close.

When the food comes and the apartment’s intercom buzzer sounds throughout the room, Nick starts in such a way - as if his parents just came home early and are about to catch him doing something he shouldn’t - that he bumps heads with Rafael. Idly, hand rubbing his forehead, he pretends not to notice the scathing look Rafael levels at him. He also pretends not to notice the little smirk, the shake of the head, as Rafael ducks out to fetch the food.

He comes back in and puts the food on the coffee table neatly, and with purpose. Nick wants to make some snappy _something_ about how they won’t be eating their meal at the dining table with placemats and multiple sets of cutlery, but is instead distracted by how Rafael dutifully folds a napkin before setting it in front of him. 

There’s a real dichotomy to Rafael, in most things he does, though Nick thinks this is the first real time he’s seen both sides interact with each other so seamlessly. Classy habits now cut with something casual and comfortable - eating with the plate resting between his crossed legs, but a drink settled within the confines of a coaster.

They eat, exchanging anecdotes, planning future dates. Nick inevitably talks about Zara, about Gil, and for someone who initially seemed rather ambivalent about children, Rafael is interested and happy to hear about them.

(A while ago, he revealed that the first time he held a baby was when Liv handed him Noah. When Nick asks him how he went his entire life without holding a baby, Rafael makes an face that’s as genuinely confused and surprised as Nick sounds.)

“Are you done eating?” Nick asks, as Rafael reaches over to put his plate on the coffee table. When he nods, and Nick quickly closes the distance between them, shifting them so he’s laying on top of Rafael, kissing him fervently, trying to get a feeling across, one that he can’t put into words (not yet, anyway).

Rafael’s hair is soft, surprisingly easy to card his hands through, so he does. Rafael pulls away, leans his head into the touch, gives him an easy, lazy smile.

“We should get ready for bed.” He says, turning his head and tilting his chin up so he can kiss the heel of Nick’s palm. With intent, but still gently, he pushes Nick off of him and tugs him by the hand towards the bedroom. 

Rafael’s bedroom is lit with soft, warm light. His bed looks amazingly warm and comfortable, a thick duvet against dark sheets, complete with fluffy pillows. One nightstand has what looks to be some case files on top of it, and a notepad sits next to the lamp. There’s a couple of candles, never lit, and a few hardcover books scattered around various other surfaces. He sits on the side of the bed that has the least amount of stuff on the nightstand next to it, unsure of what side Rafael prefers to sleep on.

(In his own apartment, his own bed, it’s the side furthest away from the window. It seems to be true here as well. He makes up reasons for it in his head, giving himself something to think about while he waits.)

Rafael exits the bathroom and quirks his eyebrow at Nick, who's sitting rather stiffly with a change of clothes and toothbrush in his lap, looking like he just got finished doing something wrong.

“Did you do something?” Rafael asks, voice deadpan and low. Nick exhales with a grin, doesn't answer but kisses him on the cheek as he walks past him and into the bathroom. He leaves the door open as he changes and washes his face, as if he can’t bear to have it closed, to be separated from Rafael for the duration of his nightly routine.

He stands at the threshold between the ensuite and the bedroom, toothpaste smeared on his toothbrush, poised to brush. Rafael idly flips through one of the books that was on his bedside table, not quite reading the words, but needing to do something with his hands anyway.

“Why’ve you never let me 'round here before?” Nick says before starting to brush. He’s joking, sure, but truth be told, he’s wondered all night. Or rather, ever since Rafael had first deflected his ‘ _why don’t we go back to yours?’_ with a _‘and here I thought I was getting so acquainted with your place, Amaro, I even left my good coffee there for the next time’_.

Truly though, part of him figured that it wasn’t a big deal anyway, that something as casual as this couldn’t be a ‘big deal’ to someone like Barba.

The way Rafael tenses up, shuts the book, however, says something different. 

Immediately, Nick asks, “ You okay?” 

His voice is low, muffled - this isn’t a conversation he should be having with a mouth half-full of toothpaste, still slowly brushing his teeth.

Rafael opens and closes his mouth a few times, and Nick wonders if Barba, ADA Barba, has ever struggled to get something out like he seems to be right now.

“Forgive me.” Rafael says after a while. He inhales, looks at Nick directly, brows furrowed. “I didn’t want you here.”

Nick tries not to take offence, though truthfully he feels more curious than affronted. Rafael’s expression says nervous, embarrassed, but his tone is oddly confident - like wanting to own up to something, knowing that it’s the right thing to do, but being so unsure of the consequences that you can’t feel at ease.

Nick chooses that pause to duck his head back into the bathroom and spit out a mouthful of toothpaste. He continues brushing.

Rafael continues, “I think I’ve been continuously surprised by you, Nick Amaro.” 

Nick cocks his head to the side, wants to interject but not sure with what, exactly. Rafael looks more troubled by the second, and this is definitely not how he anticipated this conversation going. He’s at risk of swallowing toothpaste.

“Surprised that you actually would want to pursue a relationship with… me.” The way that it comes out is almost like a sigh, something defeated and heavy. Rafael’s expression shifts, then. “This isn’t - I don’t want you to think that I have some sort of… _underlying complex_ about myself.” 

His voice is clear, the tone clinical. Something that went from private to courtroom in a second. Defensive. Tense - but then Rafael shifts slightly on the bed, a reminder that he is in fact in the comfort of his own home. It seems to relax him somewhat, and he carries on.

“I had figured you were just a straight guy looking to experiment.” Nick goes to object, gets half a syllable of something out when Rafael holds up his hands in a placating gesture, “I know - I _know_ you said that wasn’t the case, before you asked me out for the first time. And yet, I can’t stop thinking about the day you realise you’re done with… this. When you’ve checked the box and you can move on to something more…heterosexual.”

Nick, toothbrush still in hand, arm still raised to brush, can’t help but let out a noise of protest. It’s a little muted with a mouth full of toothpaste and comes out a little more comical than he intends. Rafael softens, just a touch, then continues.

“If I stay over at your place, I can come and go as I please. I get to make the decisions, and it’s selfish, but I knew that if you stayed over here, if I gave you that power, you could stay, or…” He trails off. He shakes his head, as if he’s said something wrong, and stands up. “ _Or_ you could go. It’s, I know, but I wanted to make sure that... you weren’t just going to leave.”

Rafael takes a few steps towards Nick, but stops in the middle of the room. He lets his arms fall to his sides, in some kind of defeated posture, but flexes his fingers like he expected to be holding onto Nick at this point.

Quickly, probably up there with the quickest he has ever done it, Nick leans into the ensuite, spits the remaining toothpaste into the sink and haphazardly rinses out his mouth, before crossing the room to Rafael, taking his head in his hands and kissing him. 

The kiss is a little wetter than it needs to be, but Rafael ignores it in favour of letting Nick lick into his mouth. It’s something messy, passionate, something that makes whatever feelings he has for Nick that he doesn’t want to acknowledge expand tenfold deep in his chest. Nick pulls away, kisses his cheek, his temple, his forehead, all while whispering - 

“No, no, Rafi - I would never - you are so important to me.” He repeats the last bit over and over, “You are so important to me, so, so important..”

Nick pushes him back towards the bed, slides his hands down Rafael’s arms and tangles their fingers together. He breathes reassurances in multiple languages so close that their lips are just barely touching, his breath hot, heavy. Eventually he moves so they’re sitting, cross-legged, face to face on the bed, resting his head on Rafael’s shoulder, hands settled at his hips. Rafael, in turn, runs his hands up the back of Nick’s shirt, dragging his fingers up and down Nick’s spine.

“This isn’t an experiment.” Nick says, after a moment of silence. “I can’t stay objective around you.”

It’s such a _line_ that Rafael lets out a laugh, leans back so Nick has to raise his head to look at him, moves so he’s laying on top of Nick. They stay close, smiling into kisses, until Nick pulls away so he can stare directly into Rafael’s eyes. 

“You are worth so much to me,” Nick says, seriously. “I care about you, Rafael. I might even…” 

He trails off. Rafael’s expression morphs into recognition, and then understanding. Instead of answering, instead of saying anything at all, he nods, once and then twice. Rafael kisses him one last time and moves so they can properly get under the covers. When the lights go off, he pulls Nick closer so he tucked just under his chin, sleepy and comfortable, warm with a feeling he might have convinced himself he didn’t deserve.

 

-

 

When Rafael wakes up, Nick is gone. Blearily, he feels sixty different thoughts wash over him. Some part of his brain tries to convince him that he was right, that Nick left because that’s what people do, but he inhales deep, smells burnt coffee grounds, and he knows deep in his bones that Nick would not and will not leave.

And just a moment later, when Nick walks in with a cup of coffee for him and a glass of water for himself, when he kisses Rafael good morning and slides the coffee into his hands, he smiles. It’s a real, fond thing, something that soon turns sharp with the need to deflect. 

(He’s made progress, but there are some things you can’t shake so easily.)

“Making yourself right at home, detective?” He takes a sly sip of coffee, and Nick’s crooked smirk grows.

“Yeah,” He replies, playful, “Like you _mind_.”

Rafael laughs, something genuine that makes the coffee swirl in the cup, at risk of dripping onto the duvet. Nick places his water on the bedside table, crawling back under the duvet, finds Rafael’s hand that isn’t holding the coffee cup. He laces their fingers together, squeezes once.

“You’re right.” Rafael doesn’t really need to refute it - he would hope Nick knows he’s joking. But some things need to be said. “I don’t mind.” 

Nick’s grin is wide, his expression loving, and he kisses the back of Rafael’s hand. 

Casual, familiar, and at home.


End file.
